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After a beat, her big dark eyes grow to the size of saucers.
“I know a fellow math geek when I see one.” Math was the only thing that clicked in my brain. No emotions. No ‘what ifs.’ Just cold, precise laws and unbendable rules.
A smile tugs her lips. “What are your thoughts on ‘The Fibonacci Sequence?’”
I grin. “You mean 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89, 144…?”
Her eyes widen and she literally vibrates. “Give me a multiplication task. It’s my party trick.”
“Three hundred and fifty times twelve hundred and ninety-one.” I do the sum in my head.
She rolls her eyes.
“Child’s play. Four hundred and fifty-one thousand, eight hundred and fifty.” She says the answer already in my head. “Okay, Braveheart. What’s the square root of nine thousand, six hundred and forty-two?”
I frown, pretending to work it out when I’ve already done so.
“Ninety-eight point one, nine, three, six, eight, six.” I smirk. “Do you want me to go on? I can.”
“I think you might be my soul mate.” Her hand comes to her mouth as if she can’t believe she said the words. Her eyes drop and pink slashes her cheeks. I cup her beautiful face in my hands until she hooks me with her big, dark, vulnerable eyes, and swipe a finger across her silky cheek.
“You’re perfect, Annulus and Arbelos.” I mean every word. She’s tempting, sexy, smart, and says what she wants. Everything about her ticks a big yes.
“No such thing. Every dog has a few fleas.” Her soft drawl is doing a number on my brain. I can do nothing but stare at her. What is she saying? Something about dogs, collars? My mind flashes to collars. A silk collar. Black because against her creamy skin it would look fucking fantastic as I fuck her from behind. Her ass in the air and she is moaning my name.
“Knox?”
I pull my mind from her ass in time and scrape a hand across my jaw. “Aye?”
“No one is perfect. Sometimes the things you dream about just won’t happen. No happy endings. Just life.”
Pain works through her eyes.
I cup her face, every bone in my caveman body tense. “Someone hurt you?” I want to take the fucker out the back and break him.
“No.” A tiny shrug. “Just gave up wanting or waiting for a happy ending.”
“You are evre?ting. Everything, Georgia Henry. You deserve a happy ending.” I fist my hand in her hair until she has nowhere else to look but at me. “I hope you get your happy ending, beautiful.” Brown clashes with blue and she reels me in. My heart does some weird little flip.
Must be indigestion
Except I haven’t eaten.
My cock, the imposing gentleman he is, rises to the occasion.
“You’re gorgeous,” she whispers.
I huff out a breath. “Woman, don’t dent my man card. Men aren’t gorgeous.”
As for happy endings? About as likely as a Leprechaun arriving on my doorstep telling me where he buried his pot of gold. Yeah, not going to happen.
Her warm hand cups my chin. “Ah, yeah, you are gorgeous, beautiful Braveheart. You sir, you can butter my biscuits anytime.”
I want to throw out a comment, but she’s staring at me with a creased forehead, so I let it go, but for the record I want to butter her biscuits. Scrap that. I fully intend to butter her biscuits, but I think her meaning and mine differ. Same result in the end. Both of us sated and unable to move. She holds my stare then smiles, and fuck me if that smile doesn’t sink into my balls and pulls a hesitant smile out of me. Most women shy away from my intensity. But Georgia Henry? Her eyes scan me, and her smile goes wide.
“You’re big and scary.” She slides a hand down my cheek. “But, I know you’re all marshmellowy protective underneath that gorgeous gruff exterior.”
I growl. “For fuck’s sake, couldn’t you call me manly and brutally handsome?” I pull a hand through my hair, fighting a smile. The second one this year.
